


Of Baseball Games and Reconciliations

by SingARoundelay



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Because I can't just write happy things without there being angst, I swear to god there's a happy ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Missing Scene, Period-Typical Homophobia, because Whizzer isn't just going to say yes to a kiss after the baseball game, marvin finally may not have internalized homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-22 15:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12484440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingARoundelay/pseuds/SingARoundelay
Summary: Whizzer was done with the golden-haired boy who wanted it all and gave nothing in return. And, while Trina may not have wanted her ex-husband's ex-lover at Jason's baseball game — Whizzer is the last person Marvin ever wanted to see again. The feeling is mutual. But at the same time — seeing Marvin again brings up so many old feelings. But missing and getting back together are two very different things and it's going to take more than a bit of sniping to rekindle that flame.





	Of Baseball Games and Reconciliations

It all starts with a letter. 

Not a phone call or a visit — though he knows finding a short Jewish kid on his doorstep is out of the question, even if the kid had been traversing Manhattan for years between ex-wife and ex-husband on his own — but a goddamned letter. 

Somehow, though, the letter is harder to ignore than any face-to-face or ear-to-ear meeting. In either scenario, Whizzer could have made some sort of guilt-free excuse and blown the kid off. _Sorry, I'm busy,_ or _Hide in the bedroom and pretend I'm not here,_ or _Go away, I'm not your 'dad' and I never was,_ were all perfectly viable responses. That said, however, Whizzer also knows he'd never admit that last thing to Jason. Jason's been through enough these past few years and he really doesn't need Whizzer's bitterness or resentment to cloud whatever opinion he holds of his father. 

Never mind that Whizzer always treated Jason like his own blood.

From what he's heard through the grapevine that's Cordelia and Charlotte gossip circle, Jason and Marvin are actually getting along for once. What a shocker. Maybe Marvin's managed to gain a few months of maturity in the intervening few years. Granted _anything_ would be an improvement over the man-child he used to fuck. 

If you're wondering, yes it still burns that Marvin kicked him out over winning a damn chess game. 

Hindsight is always twenty-twenty. Looking back, Whizzer knows there was a hell of a lot more at play than _just_ a chess game, but the fact that it was the excuse Marvin used galls even now. Throwing a tantrum was _so_ much more mature than actually talking about their toxic relationship. Whizzer isn't naive. He's well aware their... well, whatever it was they had together would have burned out either a few months or a few years later. The chess game was merely the gasoline accelerant poured on the simmering flames that turned it into a full-scale conflagration leaving no survivors.

And even though Whizzer has fucked his way through half of New York City and the surrounding boroughs since their break-up, it's when he's alone at night — because no one _ever_ shares his bed for anything other than sex — that he thinks of Marvin. He thinks of the man who kicked him out, so afraid of actually being happy with another man, that he'd do anything to sabotage their supposed happiness. Those were the worst kinds of gays: the ones who had so many hangups about their sexuality that they projected it onto those who were out and proud. The ones who let hatred and jealousy intermingle until they poisoned everything around them.

They may have been together for a little over ten months — Whizzer begrudgingly admits the number — but Whizzer never promised Marvin commitment. Never promised him the white picket fence. Never promised that he'd clip the coupons and make the dinner and be the goddamned _wife_ Marvin left just so he didn't feel guilty about sucking cock. Whizzer never promised _anything_ beyond sex and companionship and that he chose to come home to Marvin every night when he was done with his latest conquest. Just because Marvin couldn't indulge in the same way didn't mean Whizzer's lifestyle was inherently wrong. 

Just because Whizzer didn't want to be a meek housewife didn't make Marvin's expectations wrong.

They were simply two opposite ends of a spectrum and their polarity finally shattered their tenuous peace.

Yet through it all, Whizzer doesn't want to look at too closely at the fact that if Marvin only said, _"Please stay here tonight, baby."_ or _"I love you."_ Whizzer may not have left the house. Because then, at long last, he'd know Marvin was serious about being together. Sure, he divorced his wife and left his kid and all those other things Marvin used to throw in his face when they had a fight. But those were bargaining chips. After hearing them spat out in a fit of rage time after time, those words stopped holding meaning. They were never actual emotion. They never told Whizzer _"I accept that I'm gay and I'm not going to run away because I'm scared that I love men and you're the man I love and want a life with so don't go out tonight."_

Because, then, Whizzer might actually have had to examine his own heart and realize he fell so hard for the closeted, self-hating man who was his opposite in every way. That no matter how much he protested that he didn't want to settle down and carve out a small place to call home, just the two of them -- Whizzer wanted just that with Marvin.

Marvin, who because of his pride at losing a fucking game, shattered Whizzer's heart into a thousand pieces.

That night, surrounded by the ghosts of what-could-have-been, Whizzer drinks too much and falls asleep on the couch, Jason's now-crumpled letter clutched between his fingertips like a talisman.

***

> _Hey Whizzer,  
>  So, yeah. Hi. It feels weird writing this to you but I'm sure you guessed that part by that I actually wrote to you. Fact is, I don't actually know where you live. Doc Charlotte said she'd address this to you since I'm not supposed to know where you are. They never said I shouldn't talk to you but I guess that's probably implied. ~~I just miss you.~~_
> 
> _I wanted to write... to see if you'd come to my baseball game. You and I always used to debate the Yanks and the Red Sox (though I know you're really a Yankees fan, you just liked arguing with me) so I know you at least like baseball. Dad... well. I doubt Dad'll come._
> 
> _I just really want to see you. The game's next Saturday at 3 up near school. You don't have to write me back. I'm hoping Doc will actually mail this and not just pretend she sent it because I know how you adults can be. Anyway. I hope you're okay. I hope you haven't forgotten about ~~us~~ me. _
> 
> _Sincerely,  
>  Jason_

***

Eight days later, and against both his better and worse judgments, Whizzer finds himself on the outskirts of the ball field. The game is... not good. Well, it is for the opposing team. Even from this far away, the two teams look like the embodiment of David versus Goliath... and Goliath is going to win hands down. It's open season on the team made up of little Jewish boys judging by the score (Six to nothing, bottom of the second inning). Really, isn't it unfair to lump all the Jewish kids on one team so they can summarily get their asses kicked week in and week out by teams who actually are well-versed in sports?

He's aware he's perpetuating a horrid stereotype about Jewish kids and their inability to sportsball — but at the same time, stereotypes exist for a damn good reason. Who is he to argue with nature? (He's half-Jewish which, consequently makes him half-good at sports.)

Whizzer hooks his fingers into the chainlink fence, toes of his white sneakers bending up as he tries to peer into the stands without entering the field. Yes, he's looking for Marvin — so sue him. Not because he wants to see the man, but so he's prepared to interact with him. Would _you_ want to walk into the proverbial lion's den without knowing which of the players (your ex-lover who hates you, his ex-wife who despises you, and her new husband who never seemed like your biggest fan) are in attendance?

Anyone who answers 'yes' is a liar.

He'd rather catch another round of syphilis than waltz into that happy homecoming.

Charlotte's voice carries across the small field and he can't help but crack a smile. She's shouting obscenities at the umpires and, if Whizzer closes his eyes, he can imagine what Cordelia is saying to soothe her partner. _See, Marvin. Some people can be proud of their sexuality out in the open and don't hate themselves. You should try it some time._ His thoughts toward Marvin aren't kind. Not when he's missed out on years of Jason growing up because of their feud. Not when he can barely recognize Jason because of how much he's grown in two years.

He shields his eyes against the sun, trying to make out faces in the stands. In the very back row he can spot his two favorite lesbians and, just in front of them, Mendel and Trina. Whizzer squints, frantically scanning the other faces to see if he can find Marvin. Maybe Marvin knows better than to sit with them so he's acting the role of the loner. 

Today is about _Jason_. He didn't come here to make a scene and he knows full-well, Trina is the most likely candidate for shit-stirring/shit-throwing. It's a wonder those two didn't stay married. They were perfect for each other in so many ways — aside from the whole closeted homosexual bullshit.

He stands there like some creeper for the next two innings. Taking note on batting stances and things he would change if he were the coach because he can't help himself. The kids need help and it's clear they're not getting it. He bites back a groan at a particularly bad play — he swears the kid who just threw the ball only managed to get it to travel fourteen feet. _Please don't let that have been Jason._ Three more innings pass. Still no sign of Marvin. _Bastard._

Whizzer's not sure if he's glad because it means he can see Jason mostly unencumbered — or if he's disappointed Marvin isn't taking more of an interest in his son's life. Fucking _typical._ Jackass.

There's a pitching change and Whizzer takes the opportunity to slip inside the ball field proper. Parents with their kids in tow practically swarm the concession stand for stale popcorn and warm sodas and Whizzer has to duck out of the way to avoid being trampled. Standing just off to the side of his teammates is Jason, bat perched on his shoulder and looking like he wants the earth to swallow him whole.

The adults are still bickering (surprise, surprise) though maybe he can use this to his advantage. If they're arguing, they're distracted so maybe won't notice his presence. Whizzer has almost made it to Jason when he hears Trina's shrill voice, throwing barbs in his direction asking why he's come. Already. When he was planning on ignoring her. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, glancing up at the woman.

"Jason asked me to come. Since he asked me to come, I came."

He pauses long enough to let that sink in. _Your son wanted me here, Trina. Does that make a difference? How about letting your son make his own decisions rather than dictate his life for him?_ If Trina replies, her words are lost to the wind and the clinking-clank of someone climbing the metal bleachers.

Whizzer shifts away from Jason and more toward Trina against all good sense. Going closer means engaging but he can't fucking help himself either. He's not going to be the one to cause a scene, but he's damn-well going to finish one if it starts.

"Hey. I love baseball. I love Jason. That's what I'm doing here." Whizzer shrugs, about to turn back to Jason in the on-deck circle.

"Look who's here." That voice. _Fuck._ He hasn't seen him all game from the his lurking spot behind the opposing team's dugout. Whizzer casts a quick glance skyward, silently cursing the god that decided today was the perfect day to fuck with his life yet again. "Say hello."

"Hello." The words get caught in his throat.

"You're looking sweeter than a donut."

Sarcasm doesn't become him. Or maybe Whizzer doesn't have any patience left for Marvin's bullshit. One of the two. Or maybe a little of both.

"Marvin," he says, voice clipped.

"Whizzer," Marvin parrots his own tone of voice back at him.

"Is he still queer?" 

The words slip out before Whizzer has a chance to swallow them back down. Maybe he's going to be the one to make a scene here and not Trina or Marvin combined. Whizzer watches as the blood drains from his face. What, is he not out to the rest of their little group? Of course he's not. Because why admit to one facet of yourself when you can keep on hiding it like the dirty secret it isn't.

"Am I queer?" Marvin asks, but Whizzer doesn't want to take the bait.

Trina and Mendel talk over one another, trying to break up the sudden tension without resorting to violence. Whizzer is almost surprised by her actions. Maybe he judged her too quickly.

"It's been so long since I could tell..."

There's something in Marvin's tone of voice that wiggles its way into Whizzer's long-dead feelings for the other man. He shakes off the momentary weakness. _You goddamned liar. You said you're in demand when we last fought. You're just the same as me: fucking anything with a pulse once you kicked me out. You goddamned hypocrite._

Marvin grabs Whizzer by the arm and, though he protests the entire time, manhandles Whizzer to the seat directly in front of him. Marvin's going on and on about a bald spot or a receding hairline (neither of which are actual concerns—Whizzer checks these things daily.) and Whizzer feels that his last nerve coincidentally named _Marvin_ is dangerously close to snapping. Marvin keeps trying to touch his hair (kindly fuck off, Marvin) and Whizzer is growing dangerously close to punching Marvin in the jaw. That... would definitely cause a scene. At the third attempt, Whizzer practically snarls at Marvin. _Fuck_ this noise. He ducks under Marvin's questing hands, batting them away from his perfectly coiffed hair, and vaults away from the bleachers. Whizzer is going to go see Jason, give the kid a hug, then beat a fast retreat away from this place. If he ever questioned his decision not to fight for his relationship with Marvin, this one interaction has removed all doubts. Marvin is still the same immature child he always was. He'd actually hoped his ex-lover would have come to his senses and, god forbid, grown up.

Apparently not.

"Hey, Jason," he says, ignoring the commotion from the stands.

"Oh, hi, Whizzer! Glad you came!" At last, one person actually looks happy to see him. What a novel concept.

"Anything for you." He pulls off Jason's batting helmet and ruffles the kid's hair. "I was watching you from out there."

"I thought that was you," Jason's shoulders slump. "Our team is horrible."

"I wouldn't say—" 

"Fucking horrible."

Whizzer lets out a bark of a laugh at his almost-adopted-son's use of profanity. "Well, I'm afraid I can't disagree with you there." He nudges the kid with his shoulder. "Hand me your bat. I have some advice."

"You used to play?" Jason asks, handing over the bat.

"A little. In college." The bat feels good in his hands even if it is a bit on the small size. He settles down into a batting stance, holding still so Jason can see where to place his feet and hands and hips. "Now. Here's all you have to do: Keep your head in the box. Don’t think of a thing. Keep your head in the box, your eye on the ball, take a breath, then let it out, and swing!"

He demonstrates a textbook swing and Jason grins up at him. He flips the bat back to Jason... who just misses catching it. Whoever had the idea to force him into baseball — Trina — should also let him do quieter, indoor sports. Like basket weaving.

"See, that's how it's supposed to look."

Charlotte's voice carries across the crowd once again, drawing Whizzer's attention. He lifts his head and makes eye contact with her. At first, he thinks it's just his swing and she's complimenting his form. But when his gaze flicks toward Marvin for the briefest of seconds, Whizzer realizes there's a double meaning to her words. Yes, it's how a swing should look -- but it's also how a father teaches his son to play baseball.

Whizzer is playing the role Marvin is supposed to. The role they should be playing together in their fucked up tight-knit family.

If it wasn't for Jason's innocence, he'd swear this whole goddamned baseball game was a setup.

***

_Could it be possible to see you or to kiss you or to give you a call...?_

Those words have been ringing in his ears for the past four days. Thank God Jason actually managed to hit the fucking ball and save him from answering the damn question and embarrassing himself. Not to mention give the wrong answer. In the heat of the moment, with the crack of the bat and the cheers for the Jewish kid who had struck out every time he went up to bat for the last four games (Charlotte was all too happy to fill him in on the 'stats') all coupled together with the expression on Marvin's face — Whizzer felt his resolve waver.

One little kiss couldn't be that damaging, could it?

_Even maniacs can charm._

It was so easy to remember why he had fallen into Marvin's bed in the first place and then just _stayed_ there. The curl of his hair, the god-awful clothing... those eyes. That goddamned _smile_ that lit up a room and was always just for him.

Had Jason not hit a grand slam home run, Whizzer knows he would have said yes.

But he didn't and Jason hit the ball and Whizzer is able to live another day without falling under Marvin's spell once more. They all celebrated the not-win-but-not-a-shut-out-for-the-first-time-all-season-thanks-to-Jason... whereupon Whizzer promptly slipped away when no one was looking. It was safer that way for everyone involved. Marvin had a life he'd cut out and it clearly didn't include Whizzer. With the heat of the moment gone, Whizzer didn't want to see him or kiss him or... or, god forbid, get back together. In all honesty, hearing those words served to prove that he wasn't ready to face Marvin or to talk about what went wrong in their relationship. 

No. Whizzer was done with the golden-haired boy who wanted it all and gave nothing in return. He would never fall under that spell ever again.

 _Just remember he's psychotic._

It's been the mantra repeated over and over in his head whenever he feels the urge to reach out to Marvin. He hates to admit just how many times he nearly picked up the phone to call. One would think the incidents would have lessened over the years, but if anything they've grown in frequency. The longer they're apart, the more Whizzer wants to know what's going on in Marvin's life. Wanting to know how Jason is doing. Even, for all that he knows she despises him, he wants to know how Trina is.

But wanting to know and actually knowing are two different things. No matter how much he _needs_ , he remains strong. He repeats his mantra ad naseum until the moment has passed, no matter how long it takes. No matter how his traitorous heart disagrees. Just as he thinks he may actually be getting over Marvin, this fucking baseball game happened. After today, his fucking heart is trying to overrule all semblance of common sense and make him pick up the phone just to hear Marvin's voice.

A knock at the door startles him out of his thoughts. He flicks his gaze to his wrist, frowning at his watch. Who the hell is at his apartment at almost midnight? Fuck, did he forget a date? Christ, he's a mess and in no mood to bottom for some over-enthusiastic top who wants nothing more than to get off.

Whizzer reaches to his left, fingertips brushing his little black book as he pulls it within reach. He pages through and, no, he doesn't have someone coming by. Hell, it's been almost a year since he last had one of his conquests visit his apartment. Lately, he's preferred seedy back rooms or _their_ place. Less of a risk of getting attached and letting something turn into feelings and emotion when it should have stayed a quick fuck.

And there he goes, thinking about Marvin again. Goddamnit, he never should have gone to the game. _Psychotic, psychotic, psychotic._

The knock comes again, louder and more insistent this time.

"Whizzer, open up. I can see your light on from the street. I know you're in there."

He's across the small apartment in record time, opening the door as wide as the security chain will allow. _Breathe, Whizzer. Don't let him in. Don't make that same mistake again._

"What the _actual fuck_ , Marvin?" Whizzer hisses between clenched teeth. "Who the hell gave you my address?" Marvin opens his mouth to speak but Whizzer holds up a hand. "Save it. I'm sure her name starts with the letter C and ends in 'I think I'm a matchmaker'. I'll deal with her in the morning."

Marvin doesn't say anything and somehow that infuriates Whizzer all the more.

"We have nothing to say to each other," Whizzer says after the silence stretches too long to be anything but uncomfortable. "I think you should leave."

"I think we have plenty to say to each other," Marvin replies, his voice quiet. "And I want to stay so let me in."

All of his bravado from the baseball game is gone now. Instead, Marvin looks like a small child, nervous to admit to his mom that he just broke her prized vase. In the dim hallway lighting, Whizzer can see details he missed a few days ago: Marvin's sporting a bit of grey woven through his curls and a few more wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. He's older and somehow softer around the edges. It's almost enough to make him want to open the door and invite him inside.

Almost.

"You had your chance," Whizzer replies coolly, picking at a bit of non-existent dirt from under his fingernails. "You had your chance to say something to me the day you threw me out of the house over a _fucking game_. But instead you shoved a suitcase at me and then cut off contact. No, if you had something to say to me, you'd have done so then or _any other time over the past two years_. So kindly go fuck yourself because we're done here."

"I'm sorry."

Whizzer snorts and it isn't a kind sound.

"You're sorry?" Whizzer stares at him, waiting for the man to elaborate but he stays quiet. "You're _fucking sorry_. After all this time, _that's_ all you have to say to me? Go fuck yourself, Marvin. Again."

"I figured it's what you'd want to hear."

Whizzer stares at Marvin for a long moment, letting the silence once again stretch and turn uncomfortable. He's in no hurry to speak and it appears Marvin isn't about to help make things comfortable either. It's like a perverse game of emotional chicken: two men staring each other down, waiting for one to crack. But Whizzer doesn't have all night and would rather have a date with Jack Daniels than continue any longer, so he breaks first.

"I didn't even think that word was in your vocabulary."

Marvin dips his head. "I suppose I deserve that."

"You _suppose_? You deserve a fuck-ton more than that," Whizzer replies.

"Please. Let me in. It's late... and I know I shouldn't have come here in the first place. I begged Charlotte to give me your address and she told me I shouldn't come. That you were still mad and just... please let me in. I can't do this through a slip of a door. Five minutes. That's all I ask. If you don't like what I have to say, then I'll go and I swear I'll leave you alone for good this time."

As far as his heart is concerned, this is like a damn proposal of marriage. There's something so earnest in Marvin's voice and expression that Whizzer can't help but comply. Maybe it's because it's just the two of them and Marvin isn't putting on a show for others to gawk at. Maybe because at the damn baseball game, Marvin made no attempt to hide the fact that he was gay. More than just their circle heard him ask for a kiss or a date.

Maybe because he's replayed their last conversation over a chess board so many times in the last four days that his soul is weak and just _needs_ Marvin.

Just like he always has.

Whizzer closes the door without another word. He hesitates for a moment (he's not going to make this easy on Marvin) then releases the chain. He doesn't open the door, however. Instead he returns to the couch, pouring himself onto one end in, what he hopes, looks like the picture of indifference. Instead, his heart is hammering so hard he's afraid Marvin might be able to see it. For all of his own bravado and cool exterior -- this is an impossible moment for Whizzer.

Because Whizzer still loves Marvin and, if he isn't careful, is going to wind up with his heart broken all over again.

He was lying two years ago. When asked if he loved Marvin, he gave a cool _no_ as a response. Whizzer had been lying through his teeth, praying that no one would ever realize the truth. Hell, he'd been lying to himself for almost all of their 'relationship'. Truth was he'd fallen for Marvin the moment he set eyes on him. He'd spent the next nine months fucking everything that moved to try and convince himself he didn't want till death do we part.

Truth was: he did.

At last, the door swings inward and Marvin puts a tentative foot into the apartment. One step, then another. Hands folded in front of him, leaning against the now-closed door for support.

"You have five minutes," Whizzer says. "Talk. Time's a wasting and I have people to do and things to see."

Marvin glances up at that. "You still haven't changed."

Whizzer shrugs. "I like me the way I am. You're the one who had the problem with it."

He nods. "Because I didn't understand. I didn't... I couldn't wrap my head around it. You. What we were to each other. What I was." Whizzer snorts again, ready to tell Marvin _exactly_ what he is. Instead, Marvin holds up a hand. "Before you interrupt me with your usual bullshit just... just shut up. Let me get this out. I only have about four and a half minutes left of your precious time and I'm going to need every second."

That stings. But then again, Marvin always knew how to cut him to the core with only a few well-chosen words.

"I could never understand why you still needed to fuck and fuck and fuck when I was right there. Hell, we had a pretty active sex life. I guess I never understood why I wasn't enough for you. Why you always needed to go after more. Why you could never be satisfied."

"You're the one who wanted it all, Marvin," Whizzer mutters under his breath. "Sex and money was enough for me."

_Liar._

"I did," Marvin admits. "I wanted it all: I wanted my kid and my wife and my lover to all co-exist so I would never have to give anything up. I could have my family and I could have you and never have to choose. I wanted you to fit the role I lost when Trina and I divorced. I wanted the heteronormative life even though I've always known I was gay. I wanted to have you and not come barreling out of the closet like you did. I've only ever known how to be a husband to a wife and I tried to make you fit that small box. Turns out it's like putting a square peg in a round hole. Push long enough... and the whole thing explodes."

Whizzer laughs at that. "You've been working on your metaphors I see."

Marvin continues on as if Whizzer had never spoken. "But in doing so, I pushed you away. I was... I am so dumb. I never saw what was right in front of me this whole time." Marvin's hands clench and Whizzer can see his knuckles are almost white. "I never should have made you my wife. I didn't want Trina in that way, so why did I think you would fit it any better. I didn't need you to cook the dinner and clip coupons and whatever the hell else you said to me. You were right all along. I was stupid and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss you. That I don't regret what I said and did that day." Marvin's head drops to the floor, his last words so soft that Whizzer isn't sure Marvin's aware he spoke them aloud. "I never did want it all. All I want is you."

They're pretty words. Pretty words wrapped up in a pretty package with a pretty bow and said by a pretty man.

The only problem: they're the words he's always wanted to hear Marvin say. To _admit_. To no longer loathe his homosexuality and accept that's who he is. That when two men were in a relationship together, it didn't mean one of them had to be the wife.

The last cracks in Whizzer's cool facade open wide; fissures that will always be bare from here on out. It'll be so easy for Marvin to shatter him if Whizzer takes this offered olive branch. He's not sure if he'll ever be enough for Marvin -- and he isn't sure Marvin will be enough for him. His little black book is evidence of that. But if Marvin asked... could he shred the book and leave all of his former life behind? Is Marvin worth it?

_Yes._

Whizzer rises to his feet and crosses the room to his ex-lover. He brushes his fingers over Marvin's clenched hands, slowly turning them so he can fit his hand inside Marvin's. The simple motion of holding his hand is familiar and comfort. Whizzer breathes in and Marvin still smells exactly as he remembers. Bit by bit, the tension that settled in his shoulders two years ago begins to leech out.

"I can't make any promises," Whizzer whispers, his lips brushing Marvin's forehead as he speaks.

"I know."

"I can't --"

"I don't care," Marvin says, interrupting Whizzer. "Any of the excuses, the reasons... I don't care." He tilts his face up and Whizzer looks into those eyes he so adored for the first time in years. "If you don't want me then say the word. I'll leave. We'll pretend this didn't happen and I'll make arrangements to not be around if you want to see Jason. He misses you, if you couldn't tell."

"I could." The words catch in Whizzer's throat.

Is this his Marvin... mature? It's hard to comprehend... but maybe they've both managed to grow up. Maybe they've both figured out what they want out of life.

"That's... that's all I came here to say. I'm sure you need time... to think. Hell, it took me four days just to figure out this speech and even then it didn't go quite--"

Whizzer slides his free hand up to grab the back of Marvin's neck, then presses his lips to Marvin's. The kiss is hesitant, tentative, like two inexperienced teenagers trying to figure out their first kiss together. Marvin squeezes Whizzer's hand and he feels something tighten in his chest.

Kissing Marvin is like coming home. This is why his constant string of men in his life could never satisfy him.

None of them were Marvin.

The kiss rapidly changes from chaste to something far less innocent and Marvin opens himself up to Whizzer. As his tongue sweeps inside his ex-lover's (lover's?) mouth, he tastes nothing but the breath mint Marvin must have eaten on his way over. There's no trace of alcohol. Nothing that says Marvin wasn't of sound mind and body when he made his impassioned speech.

They break apart, at last, breathless. Whizzer grins stupidly down at Marvin and is pleased to see the same inane grin plastered on Marvin's face. He knows full-well this isn't going to be easy. He knows there will be fights and sniping — because leopards don't change their spots and he knows Marvin can be cruel when he wants to be. 

But Whizzer also knows he loves the man. Not that he can admit it aloud yet. That's something he's going to have to work on.

It's only later, after they've fallen on the couch in a tangle of limbs, after talking about everything and nothing all at once that Whizzer notices the package Marvin left by the door. "What's that?" He asks, loathe to release Marvin.

Marvin blushes — actually fucking _blushes._

"Oh my god, you brought porn. What, did you think I'd have trouble getting it up for you?"

Marvin shakes his head and, after another long kiss or three, disentangles himself. Whizzer watches with rapt curiosity as Marvin pulls a square box from the bag and deposits it on the kitchen table. Whizzer approaches, trying to guess the contents. Year's supply of lube? Some new sex toy to try out? He lifts the black wooden lid and Whizzer finds himself staring at the same fucking chess board that started this whole mess in the first place. He's immediately on guard, cursing himself for being so fucking stupid to accept a bunch of pretty words at face value.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Whizzer hisses. "Are you insane?"

"Possibly," Marvin replies. "But it occurs to me that we never finished our game."

Whizzer narrows his eyes. "And if you're going to start this shit again, you can kindly go fuck yourself. We have _nothing_ more to say to each other if you're going to bring this up not even five minutes after I actually think I want to reconcile our relationship."

Marvin's lips quirk in a smile as he rummages through the box, coming up with the black king. He twirls the chess piece between his thumb and forefinger. Whizzer's anger spikes. How the fuck can he be smiling? It's like deja vu and this time Whizzer isn't going to be the one left holding an empty suitcase and being told to leave. He'll strike first.

"Get out."

"This is the king."

"Yeah, I know. Treat him nice and whatever other bullshit about him," Whizzer spits the words out. "Well, I'm done being nice. Get the fuck out, Marvin."

But Marvin doesn't budge. Instead, he reaches for Whizzer's hand and places the chess piece in the palm of his hand. Marvin curls Whizzer's fingers over the piece, then brings the closed fist to his lips and lightly kisses his knuckles. "Checkmate."

Now it's Whizzer's turn to be confused. Fucking hell, a conversation with Marvin is worse than watching Arthur Ashe on the tennis court. So many volleys, it's hard to keep track of who has the ball, let alone what the score is.

Whizzer isn't sure if he's winning or losing.

"I don't understand."

"The game is yours. No argument, no temper tantrum. You were right, even back then. It was just a game, no matter how much letting you win ruined my pride and pissed me off and... well, you know the rest." Marvin gives a graceful shrug of his shoulders. "I, Marvin, do hereby forfeit this and any other game to you. Because a game is worth nothing if I'm not playing it with you, no matter who wins or loses."

His anger breaks for the last time.

Whizzer knows he has his own apologies to make. Because just as it takes two people to make a relationship, it also takes two to destroy it. That he could have admitted his feelings long ago to Marvin. That he could have been the one to reach out long before now -- but his pride was too bruised; too wounded. His pride demanded that Marvin be the one to make this first overture toward making amends. And, yes, Whizzer is well aware that had Marvin not shown up tonight, he'd have gone on pining and hating and missing and loving and loathing and needing his ex-lover.

But those words are for tomorrow or six months from now. When Whizzer is finally able to put a thousand thoughts and feelings into words.

For now... for now the king in his hand and Marvin in his arms is enough.

He dips his head again, drawing Marvin in close before he kisses him. Soft, gentle, the barest press of lip to lip as he breathes in every bit of Marvin. Marvin melts against him and Whizzer isn't sure how long they stand together, breathing in each other's air. He rests his forehead against Marvin's as he exhales with a contented sigh.

"Promise me one thing," he whispers.

"Anything."

"Don't ever let me win again."

**Author's Note:**

> Because when a plot bunny hits, you just can't let it go sometimes and this was one of those cases. I love writing missing scenes and with several head canons floating around on Tumblr about why Whizzer does show up at the baseball game, I found myself needing to write it. Hope you enjoy. If you have ideas/headcanons for fics like this, please follow me on Tumblr at @singaroundelay and leave me prompts in my ask box! Lastly, as always, comments and kudos are love! <3


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